


To Lie Down With Dogs

by idiom



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Asphyxiation, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiom/pseuds/idiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before his promised return to Forli, Benito is brought back to the Vatican and given time to heal. Cesare places Micheletto in charge of his safekeeping for the duration of his stay even though the assassin is one of the main advocates for just killing the Sforza brat. So… perhaps taunting Micheletto isn’t the best stratagem Benito could have come up with. [Set during Season 2 Episode 8]</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Lie Down With Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of AU since I'm pretending that they sort of let Benito heal up a bit rather than immediately taking him back to Forli. And yes… I actually wrote something with erotic asphyxiation in it... ENJOY!

-

Benito Sforza was glad to have been given his own rooms in the Vatican - courtesy of the pope himself - while he waited for the men in power to decide his fate. They had given him proper cloths and had even allowed him to wash. It was very generous considering that Rome was technically at war with his mother and he was only still alive at the behest of the man who had killed his uncle. Benito had family in the city though, a cardinal, his mother's cousin. It made him feel safer - a bit, at least.

Benito was sitting at a desk working on a letter that would go ahead of him to Forli to inform his mother of his safety when he caught sight of something moving out of the corner of his eye. There was a man in the shadows, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Shocked by his sudden appearance, Benito stood from his chair, ready to run or defend himself at a moment’s notice.

He lifted a candle from the table and held it towards the figure to get a better look at him. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he recognised who it was.

It was the _assassino,_ Micheletto Corella. Cesare Borgia's mutt.

Benito grit his teeth as the man pushed himself off the wall and stepped towards him. He thought he’d be free from malevolence within the walls of the Vatican, but Micheletto’s presence suggested otherwise. As he stalked forward, Benito backed away.

From his place across the room, Micheletto stared at him unblinking. His stony face was void of emotion and yet behind his dangling red hair his eyes still held some salacious smirking gleam in their depths. It was impossible to read, but it was there.

“If you touch me...” he started to say, stopping when he realized there was not much he could do. He could scream? Hardly...

Micheletto bowed his head and chuckled. “Pretty as you are, Benito, who ever suggested I touch you?” he asked. His voice was so distinctively husky, it caused a shiver to creep up Benito’s spine.

Benito's eyes narrowed even as he fought off a blush. He wrapped his arms around his chest defensively. “What are you doing here?” he asked, cautiously. “How did you even get in? I didn't hear the door.”

Micheletto didn't respond right away. “My master believes you may not be safe from your mother’s enemies in Rome, even within these walls,” he replied finally after a long pause. His words did not directly answer either question.

Benito scoffed. “So he sent you to break into my room? Well, I feel so much safer,” he hissed.

Micheletto sighed at the heavy tone of sarcasm in Benito’s voice. He didn't seem to be in the mood for anymore bantering. Quietly, Micheletto seated himself on a trunk across from the end of the bed while Benito eyed him warily.

“Feel free to continue whatever it is you were doing,” Micheletto said with a dismissive nod.

Benito shot him a derisive glare and spat, “ _Grazie_.”

-

Micheletto was an eerie presence in the room behind him. The man made little to no sound and, for that reason, Benito cast subtle glances over his shoulder just to see if he was even still there. Of course he was.

It was getting late and Benito couldn’t bring himself to continue writing his letter. He was straining his eyes trying to see his page in the dim candlelight. Not to mention, his hands were shaking. Micheletto’s company made him anxious. If the letter couldn’t get done, Benito decided he would just go to sleep.

He stood and, with a small yawn, began to undress for bed, working at the fastenings of the clothes he'd been given earlier. The young man who had shown him to the room had told him there were clean nightshirts in the wardrobe, but the wardrobe stood right next to the trunk where Micheletto was seated. Benito swallowed and continued to undress while trying to ignore the assassin’s dark gaze.

“Must you stare?” Benito said under his breath, not even looking at the man as he addressed him.

Micheletto gave no response. He simply continued staring, unabashed. Again, there was that strange look in his eyes that Benito couldn’t place. It made him feel uncomfortably hot and cool dread at the same time. He resisted the urge to sneer and continued to undress. He tried to do so with the same shamelessness as Micheletto had in his gaze, but it was a futile attempt.

“Would you mind being of some use by passing me a nightshirt from the armoire.”

Micheletto’s brow arched. He was seemingly amused by the request. Nonetheless, he stood from his seat on the trunk and opened the wardrobe. He quickly picked out the first shirt he saw and handed it to Benito.    

The boy snatched it away from him and turned around to finish undressing. He put it on, but even when it dropped to it’s full length, the nightshirt barely reached his thighs.

“What are these, a child's cloths?” Benito demanded, not to anyone in particular.

“I think it suits you.” Micheletto murmured, breaking his long held silence.

Benito glanced over to see the boorish man eyeing him appreciatively. There was no denying that there was something equivocally appealing about Micheletto. The man had a menacing air about him; something dark that drew Benito in and repelled him at the same time.

Benito flushed at his own thoughts, pulling down on the hem of the shirt. He did not want to think about it, he didn’t like where his mind was taking him. So, he quickly climbed into the plush bed, bent on imploring the heavens to make time to pass faster as he slept. As he drifted off, Benito noticed Micheletto didn’t seem to be making any move to leave and he wondered if the man even slept at all.

Micheletto did not leave, even well into the night after Benito had fallen asleep. The mercenary watched Benito in his slumber. The boy's long dark lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. His face was lovely in the low light. The swelling around his eyes had gone down, but the bruises were still there. Dark bruises, beautiful in Micheletto's eyes, especially on such soft, alabaster skin.

Micheletto barely registered that he was now standing at the edge of the bed, right next to the boy's sleeping form. So peaceful and relaxed. Benito's brunet hair fanned out contrasted against the luxurious white pillows. His head tilted back, his delicate, pale neck exposed.

Micheletto wanted to wrap his fingers around it and press his thumbs into the boy's throat. He wanted to watch the boy's large eyes shoot open with surprise before the life slowly left them. The last gasp of air, the sweet struggle of his death throws as he lay… dreaming.

But no. Cesare had only ordered him to watch the boy... not kill him. What else were they to do with him? Perhaps, Micheletto thought, he could convince his master that killing the Sforza boy was the best course of action. Until then, he would only watch Benito dream.

-

Benito spent the next day in his room alone, writing music on extra scraps of paper he'd found in a drawer in the wardrobe. Micheletto was not present, but Benito knew he was close. When the man did appear again it was only to tell him that his mater had requested his presence at supper that night.

During the evening meal, Micheletto stood back in the shadows while the Borgia family; the cardinals and their many guests ate. His was focused on watching the boy, Benito as he picked delicately at a piece of bread. Micheletto had been possessed by thoughts of him since the night before.

Later in the evening, as they were drinking their wine, Micheletto approached Cesare silently. He leaned over his master’s shoulder. “Shall I kill the boy soon, Eminence?” Micheletto asked. “I can do it quietly, as he sleeps.”

Cesare looked over at Micheletto. He not aghast by the suggestion, but slightly taken aback. “He is our guest, Micheletto. I would not see him dead.”

Micheletto frowned, displeased with his master's decision. “But, he is the enemy of Rome - a Sforza.”

“Yet, he is no threat, Micheletto. Look at him.” Cesare nodded towards the boy who was slow sipping his wine while the men around him conversed. “He's just a broken little bird, my friend. Innocent, submissive... unlike his whore of a mother.” The Cardinal’s words were bitter.

Micheletto did not dwell on his master’s involvement with Catarina Sforza. He did, however, look at the boy, obviously not with the same eyes as Cesare. _Innocent, submissive,_ there was something about those designations that made Micheletto want to despoil the boy entirely not safeguard him. After a moment the mercenary grunted as if he'd just been drawn from a trance. “I still don't think it wise to let him live, but I follow your word, Eminence.”

“I don’t think it wise to kill him… yet,” Cesare murmured. However, contented by Micheletto’s promise, he inclined his head in thanks. “Keep him safe, Micheletto,” it was worded like a request, but Micheletto knew an order when he heard one.

“Yes, your Eminence.”

Cesare nodded and turned back to observe Benito again. “I met him before, he’s a delicate young thing.” Cesare tilted his head to one side and let out sigh. “Killing him now would be such a waste.”

Micheletto frowned. With a conclusive mutter of, ‘Eminence’, he gave a curt bow before slinking off, disappearing - as he did - into the shadows without registering the dark eyes watching him from across the table.

Benito smiled behind the rim of his glass.

-

When Micheletto stepped into Benito’s room. The boy was sitting on the bed waiting for him, staring pointedly at the door.

“Huh!” Benito hummed as Micheletto silently closed and locked the thing behind him. “So you can’t walk through walls after all. Pity, I was going to have you burned as a witch.”

Micheletto ignored him and took up his place on the trunk across from the end of the bed. He was prepared to simply continue his task of monitoring the boy, but Benito seemed intent on making an event of it tonight. He was sitting on the edge of the bed directly opposite Micheletto, staring at him keenly. Micheletto stared right back at him, his expression drawn.

Benito leaned back in a provocative recline that made the thin fabric of his nightshirt cling to every part of his body. It was still early in the evening, so the air was cool, his nipples were clearly outlined against the white fabric and the long, pale expanse of his legs was on display to Micheletto. Benito uncrossed his legs for show before crossing them again, a subtle smirk tilting the corners of his lips.

“I do believe I have you figured out, Micheletto,” he purred.

“What?” Micheletto blinked up from where his eyes had fallen to trail over the boy’s legs. He frowned upon seeing Benito’s lips twitch up into a little smirk.

“I think that you’re not a man who is easily satisfied,” Benito continued, pursing his lips as if in thought. “You’re tastes veer away from the urbane.”

Micheletto stood from the truck and paced dangerously closer. He stopped abruptly and let out a half-amused huff. “What are you getting at, boy?”

Benito sighed. Really? Did he truly have to spell it out for the man?

“I know what you want,” Benito said, enunciating each word.

There was silence between the two. Micheletto shook his head.

“You don’t know anything,” he grumbled, his tone telling of his boredom with this little game.

Benito shrugged then tilted his head to one side. “I know you’ve had your eyes on me.”

“Yes, I have been ordered to watch you closely.”

“Very closely.”

“Perhaps, but that is only because I don’t trust you,” Micheletto stated bluntly through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps,” Benito agreed with a shrug. “But I think, really, you don’t trust yourself.”

“What are you implying, boy?”

“You don’t trust yourself not to…” Benito’s words teetered off and he smiled. He gave only a vague gesture, as if Micheletto could insinuate in the rest of his phrase.

“Inane, cryptic mumbling. All of you Sforza are infuriating.” Micheletto almost snarled. His tone remained calm, but tensed at the same time. “Speak plainly or not at all lest I throttle the words from you.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Benito let out a little laugh. “You’re a sodomite.”

Rage filled Micheletto as he stepped towards Benito. He reached out reached out to run his fingers roughly through the boy’s hair; his hand fisting, tugging at the auburn strands once it reached the back of his head. With less force than he could have easily mustered, Micheletto pulled the boy’s hair. The tug forced Benito to arch his neck and drew a soft gasp out of him. The boy was looking up at Micheletto now, his eyes filled with the perfect mix of fear and passion.

“Hearing the truth pains you,” he said as well he could in that awkward position.

Micheletto chuckled humourlessly. “You have quite a mouth on you,” he murmured in his typical eerily monotonic fashion, but if Benito wasn’t dreaming he swore he could see a smirk turn one corner of Micheletto’s lips. “Talking like that, you should be glad I’ve recently decided I would rather fuck you than kill you… boy.”

Benito looked up at him, a sly smile gracing his red lips. “Lucky me.” He could bite.

His impudent drawl made Micheletto consider slapping him, but he held back… for the time being. “It is only my master who stays my hand in second act.”    

“I would thank him then,” Benito said in a sultry tone, eyeing Micheletto though low lashes.

Micheletto glared down at the boy. “Would you? As your mother did before you.”

Benito narrowed his eyes at Micheletto in return, but a coy expression quickly replaced his scowl. “Why not? He is handsome, your master. And Cesare Borgia is known for his prowess in bed, is he not?” he asked this as if he actually expected Micheletto to give a first hand account in his answer.

As anticipated, there was a slight rumbling from the assassin’s chest that Benito likened to a growl. Micheletto was growing tired of their little game.

 “It's unwise to bait me, Benito.”

“And here I thought dogs were fond of play.” The boy smiled.

In that second, Micheletto was upon Benito in a frenzy. His hand was on the boy’s throat with such a power that Benito was forced down against the mattress. Micheletto held himself above Benito, halfway on the bed with him. He put enough pressure on the boy’s throat for him to know he was not one for idle threats, but not enough to cut of his airflow… not quite yet.

Benito was panting, his head thrown back in exhilaration. He bared his neck for Micheletto’s strong hands.

“Do it,” he hissed. “See what happens.”

With another growl, Micheletto released his hold on the boy before pushing him down more firmly against the bed. He pressed the full weight of his body to Benito, letting the boy feel the strength of the animal he was prodding. Benito’s nightshirt rode up as Micheletto pressed into the space between his legs. This left the rough cotton fabrics of the assassin’s garments scratching against the boy’s naked inner thighs.

“I would kill you now, but I don’t want to give you the satisfaction,” Micheletto sneered. Suddenly, he seemed to realize their position and pulled back from Benito. The boy beneath him was flushed and positively debauched.

With an angry huff, Micheletto moved to sit at the end of the bed. He had struck enough fear into the boy for one night.

“Go to sleep.”

With that said, he was about to stand when a delicate hand fell to his shoulder. Micheletto turned to find Benito there right next to him; the boy’s lips were only a breath away from his own. Then they were upon him. Benito’s lips caught his in a kiss fuelled by a mix of lust and dark passion.

“You disgust me,” Benito whispered as he broke their kiss for the shortest of moments before their lips met again.

The kiss was bruising and sloppy. Both Micheletto and Benito, it seemed, had repressed their carnal desires for too long. Micheletto wanted nothing more to burry himself into the boy, take him, use him. He didn’t care if Benito was scheming, it didn’t matter.

Micheletto broke the kiss and, with his fist in Benito’s hair, he pulled back the boy’s head when he tried to lean in for another. Benito’s neck arched, exposed to Micheletto’s questing lips. The man was all tongue and wet kisses all the while his beard scratched Benito’s sensitive skin. He played with the collar of Benito’s nightshirt until the thing slipped off one shoulder than the other before falling down to pool on the bed. A none-too-gentle shove put the boy flat on his back.

Benito stared up at the ceiling for a moment before he sat up and started crawling away from Micheletto. Reaching the headboard, he sprawled himself across the pillows. Benito was quite the vision, naked and lean as soft - so soft apart from the invisible callouses at the tips of his fingers that came with practicing music. Truly, the boy hadn’t seen a days work in his life.

Micheletto didn’t break eye contact as he stood and started to undress. He took pleasure in watching Benito’s heavy lidded eyes fill with lust.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, boy. Probably the same game as your conspiring mother,” Micheletto said once his shirt was discarded to the floor. He began opening the laces on his trousers, watching Benito’s gaze drop to take in the protruding outline of his cock. Micheletto smirked when the boy shivered in anticipation. “However, I genuinely do not care.”

“No games,” was Benito’s only reply. He let out a breathy moan when Micheletto pulled open his trousers, freeing his cock from the tight leather. They were naked now, both their bodies’ tense, aroused and expectant.

“No games?” Micheletto almost wanted to laugh. “You’re just going to let me fuck you? Strategy isn’t your strong point, is it, Sforza?”

Benito growled and the man. “Shut up and come here.”

Micheletto stepped out of his pants and kneeled at the edge of the bed once more. He leaned forward, almost as if he was going to lie between Benito’s legs as he had before. Instead, he grabbed the boy’s ankles and, with a sharp tug, he dragged Benito down the bed. Only then did Micheletto move forward until he was kneeling upright between those long, pale legs.

With a gentleness that was unexpected coming from him, Micheletto caressed the boy’s chest and sides. Benito’s complexion was still pale from being locked in that dungeon for so long and a few bruises from Juan’s mistreatment of him had yet to fade. They stood out dark against his alabaster skin and Micheletto was surprisingly careful not to prod any of them. This whole facade made Benito scoff. This tenderness was sickening.

“I’m not some delicate flower, dog.”

That seemed to snap Micheletto out of whatever realm of imagination he’d ventured into. He looked up to meet Benito’s eyes with a cold stare. All pretence vanished and he smoothed one hand heavy over the boy’s neck until long fingers wrapped around his chin to fan over the lower half of his face.

“Suck.”

There was some confusion in Benito’s gaze as he took two of Micheletto’s offered fingers into his mouth. They slid between his lips and didn’t move, leaving him to crane his neck in an effort to take those long digits all the way in. Benito sucked gently, but was sure to scrape his teeth along them lest the assassin get any ideas about what else he could slip between Benito’s lips.

Micheletto chuckled, clueing into that. “Wet them good, boy. That’s all you’re getting.”

Benito glared up at him. His sucking became sloppy. Soon he had Micheletto’s fingers wet with saliva, some of which drooled down his chin. The image he made had Micheletto groaning deep in his chest.

Micheletto withdrew his hands and immediately slid his fingers between Benito’s spread legs. He pulled the boy’s thighs up onto his own, spreading hip open further. He grasped Benito’s straining cock with his free hand while he pressed one finger to the furled muscle of Benito’s entrance before he slid it in.

Benito arched up as that finger penetrated him. He bit his lip to keep from gasping out, but god! It took all his strength not to press himself back against Micheletto’s hand. He refused to give the man the satisfaction just yet, but it felt so good.

When a second finger slid passed the tight ring of muscle to join the first, Benito couldn’t help himself. Micheletto pressed his face into the boy’s neck to hide a smirk as the boy rolled his hips back. Benito was practically fucking himself on his fingers. Micheletto slid a third finger in and thrust all three forward in a steady rhythm.

Benito cried out. To the assassin, it was like a cue.

Micheletto pulled out and used that saliva slick hand to stroke himself a few times as he stared at Benito, so open and ready for him. He slid just the tip of his heavy cock against the boy’s hole until it visibly twitched with anticipation and a shudder ran through Benito’s entire body. Micheletto didn’t keep him waiting long. He pressed forward. With lust glazed eyes he watched his cock disappear to the hilt inside the boy in one slow thrust and withdraw completely before thrusting in again.

It was rough and savage right from the start. Micheletto held Benito down while he fucked him, fast and hard, not even giving the boy a moment to get used to the feeling of a man’s cock inside him. And why should he? Micheletto slammed into him with brutal thrusts, but Benito only tightened his legs around his waist.

He was enjoying it.

Benito clutched at Micheletto’s back. He rolled his hips to meet Micheletto’s each time the man slid his cock inside and arch every time he pulled out. Benito’s fingers sunk into the skin there, scratching over the lines of old scars. It was then that Micheletto pushed him back down onto the bed and held him down with a hand to his neck.

Suddenly, Benito couldn’t breath.

Another hand had joined the first on his throat. Thumbs pressed into the dip at the base of Benito’s throat. Micheletto’s fingers were like steal, choking him. All the while, the man continued to thrust.

Micheletto moved like a piston into Benito, sweat dripping of him in his exertion. Benito’s body tensed around his cock as his body begged for air and release both at once. Micheletto’s hands held steady, even as the boy beneath him sunk his nails into his chest, leaving angry sickle-shaped hollows.

Micheletto only eased his grip when the edges of Benito’s vision went black. He pulled back, allowing the boy to take a gasping breath. One hand remained at Benito’s throat, holding him down, while the other moved to grip his hips. Micheletto sat up slightly and adjusted their position. He rolled his hips forward brining Benito’s thighs over his own.

“You’re a barbarian,” Benito gasped out, his voice husky from being choked half to death.

Micheletto let out a breathless laugh. He didn’t stop to retort. His only thoughts were to his own pleasure. He fucked into Benito a bestial ferocity, yet the boy begged for more.

“Ah! Yes! Faster!” Benito turned his head to one side, panting. He thrashed about and gripped the sheets as Micheletto ravaged his body.

Micheletto pressed his hand to Benito’s throat as a warning to quiet down. They didn’t need one of the cardinals stopping to inspect the noise. Besides, if that did happened, the sick, old fuck would probably force them to let him watch. Thankfully, the threat of pressure on his windpipe was enough to keep Benito quiet.

Micheletto moved his hand to the nape of the boy’s neck and pulled forward. He caught Benito’s lips in a rough kiss, furthur muffling the boy’s cries and gasps. Their forehands pressed together as they parted. Their breath’s mingled, coming out in heavy pants perfectly timed with Micheletto’s thrusts.

The pleasure built between them and it wasn’t long before Benito reached his peak. The friction on his cock pressed between their bellies was too much. He came splattering across his own chest with a sharp cry that was caught in his throat when once again Micheletto wrapped his fingers around Benito’s neck.

Micheletto was still hard and moving inside him.

Micheletto could feel the pressure of Benito as the boy came around him, the way his body grew taught as he choked. He moaned against Benito’s skin at the sensation. Mindlessly, he continued to roll his hips in tight circles, fucking Benito through his orgasm. The boy didn’t complain; he gripped Micheletto tighter as each thrust prolonged his pleasure. Micheletto let go of his throat and moved his hands to control Benito’s hips. He slammed into him once, twice, three more times and then stilled with his cock thrust as deep as Benito’s body allowed. Micheletto knew the boy felt it, the warm, slick sensation inside as he spent himself with a haggard groan.

As the man pulled out, Benito collapsed back against the mattress and let out a satisfied sigh. He teased caresses over Micheletto’s fine-muscled biceps that were straining to keep the man’s weight from crushing down onto him. “It seems you know a few tricks, dog.”

He had barely finished speaking when a fierce hand gripped his face. Iron fingers sunk into his cheeks and his head was forced to turn. He gasped as he was made to look at Micheletto, into the man’s dangerous, blue eyes. 

“One day my master will give the order, and I will put you down, boy.”

Micheletto released his grip on the boy’s face and sat up. He deigned to ignore Benito as the boy watched him stand with a sated and curious gaze. There was a soft chuckle from the bed behind him and as he started to dress, Micheletto heard a single quiet utterance.

“Perhaps.”

Another challenge then.

Easily accepted.

-

**Author's Note:**

> I expect very few people will read this... but I hope you enjoyed the SMUT!


End file.
